The detective, the doctor, and the thief
by athena2517
Summary: Holmes and Watson make the acquaintance of a thief, a retired, female thief. Not a romance unless you REALLY want it to be. The characters as IC as I can make them. My way of changing Holmes' opinion of the fairer sex.


Epis for fic:

Scandal in Bohemia

Naval treaty

Solitary Cyclist

Speckled Band

Greek Interpreter

Norwood builder

Resident Patient

Red Headed league

Final problem

Empty house

Musgrave ritual

Second stain

Sign of four

Wisteria lodge

Hound of the Baskervilles

…

Dying detective

Sign of four

A Scandal in Bohemia:

She stood outside the window as the two thugs ransacked Irene Adler's rooms. They made enough noise to wake an army, at least in her expert opinion.

"Amateurs." She said quietly, with a chuckle. They didn't even notice her, sitting bold as brass on the outside window ledge, watching them through the sheer curtains to pass the time. She was retired, and technically this wasn't her robbery, but she couldn't resist watching the worst thieves. It was like a train wreck, you know it will end in disaster, but you can't look away.

So she sat there watching as they went through the house like a herd of stampeding elephants, amused. Obviously, it came as no great surprise to her when a serving man and the lady herself came into the room. She had to admire the ease at which Ms. Adler handled the loaded pistol. She knew a kindred spirit when she saw one and she wondered whether Irene Adler had the same impatience she did with the simpering, weaker members of their shared sex.

She smiled and slipped silently off of the window ledge as the robbers came her way. She could not even in her own mind call them true thieves. It brought shame to the word. She slipped into the shadows without a sound, save her breathing. She watched as the robbers nearly tripped out of the window in their haste to get away from the unique woman with the pistol. _Perhaps, _she thought, _Ms. Adler will be of some amusement. I shall keep close and await further developments. Business such as this tends to draw all sorts of entertainment. _

So it was that Sherlock Holmes accepted the case of the King of Bohemia and appeared around the house of Irene Adler, dressed like a workman with copious amounts of red hair covering his face and possibly the world's squeakiest boots.

She was walking down the street when she caught sight of him. If she had been any farther away than a few feet she would not have paid him any mind, however, from where she was she could see his eyes. They were sharp and calculating, seeing everything that transpired around him. She straightened her top hat, concealing her long hair and tucked her chin slightly underneath her collar to obscure her feminine jawline. She enjoyed the freedom that came with disguising herself as a man, but she did wish she didn't have to wear so many layers; it was never a thief's preference to be weighed down.

As he walked down the street, head turning left and right, she followed him. She saw him stop in front of Briony Lodge and knew she was right. He was here for the photograph. Quickly she slipped into the yard among the workers and watched. She observed the curious way he smiled, concealing his teeth so no one could see his too-clean teeth. The copious amounts of red hair were clearly a disguise; she had used similar ones herself. Still, as he took a workman's offer to handle the mare for money, she could see his hands were not those of a common worker.

She easily blended in among the cabbies as she watched him work. This was no amateur. He effortlessly turned the conversation towards Adler repeatedly. She almost laughed as the others went about their business, oblivious. They were honest men, and as such, were naïve men. How could they not see the obsession in this man's eyes? They were like the eyes of a hound on a scent, completely absorbed. Whereas she stood in the shadows, he sat on a bench, smoking a pipe and blatantly stared at Briony Lodge. She admired his style, he was perfectly honest, and it was the perfect cover.

She saw his eyes spark as he learned of her lawyer "friend". She had the advantage of a head start so she knew what he did not, that his efforts were both unnecessary and in vain. She re lined against the hedges, her back to the house, watching this remarkable man, when Irene started to sing. If she had ever had any doubt that this was no average worker, her mind would have been made up at that moment. He was completely taken with her voice. It was nearly ridiculous, the way he started. Obviously, he was a man of "enlightened" taste.

Next thing she knew those keen eyes were locked on a carriage that was nearly flying up the street. Her lawyer lover, Mr. Norton hopped out of the cab and strode purposefully towards the Lodge. He ordered the cab to wait. To her disappointment, the disguised man made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching what went on in the house closely. The man's proximity to the house prevented her from getting close enough to hear what was being said inside. She did, however, hear perfectly when Mr. Norton exited and told the cabby to drive like the devil to a church. _Spiritual crisis? _She thought, _I think not. _The man finally sprang into some kind of action, hailing a cab and flashing a hand full of sovereigns to ride quickly to St. Monica's church. As quickly and quietly as only a master thief can she ran forward and attached herself to the back of the cab.

She clung on for dear life as the cab hurled itself through the streets as if chased. She had rode many a cab in this fashion but never had she been so close to being thrown as she was after that cabby caught sight of that hand of gold sovereigns. If she had had any breath left after such exertion she would have laughed aloud. As it was, she had to hold her hat in her chin to keep it. She eased herself off the back of the cab as it slowed down in front of the church, making sure not to create any noticeable movement of the cab. She strode purposefully into the church and was hidden in a pew before the disguised man entered.

He very nearly chose her pew to sit I to feign prayer, but it seemed some higher power was looking out for her and he chose the one in front of her. Mr. Norton raged quietly as he complained that there was no one about to witness their wedding as noon drew near, the latest time to get married by law.

"You! You! Come here man!" Norton's voice rang out. She could hear her man shift on the bench, no doubt putting on a charade of looking around, confused.

"Yes! I mean you!" Norton yelled. "We have only a few minutes left or it won't be legal!"

She couldn't help but peak around the bottom of a pew to watch the most remarkable wedding ceremony she had ever seen. The remarkable Mrs. Norton, she supposed, would have no less than a remarkable ceremony. She crawled on her stomach out of the church while everyone was distracted and straightened her suit and put her hat over her hair, becoming the man once more.

After Mrs. Norton, formerly Irene Adler climbed into her carriage a cry of "Hey, you!" echoed around the churchyard. She flipped up her collar and edged her way close enough to overhear this curious conversation. The disguised man ran up to the carriage. He groveled and denied the proffered tip, before taking it at her insistence. A gold sovereign she gave him, _how poetic_. Was he smiling? He was. She was surprised, usually hired thugs, no matter how good, and didn't react well to failure. At that thought, she too smiled, and ambled off towards home, eager for the next move to this extraordinary game.

It was late and she couldn't sleep. As was usually her midnight habit, her feet took her to the place that loomed so large in her mind. A surprising number of people were milling around Briony Lodge. Her heart skipped a beat before flying into the familiar rhythm fueled by adrenaline. The chase was on and as fast as her brain reminded her she was retired, her feet moved and she was hidden from everything in the thick of the crowd. _THERE! _Her brain screamed. She caught the profile of the man. Something about his nose, his chin, and similar enormous fake eyebrows cut through the rest of the disguise and revealed him to her. The questions were; was this the moment he would try for the photograph, and, would he be able to fool the remarkable Irene Norton. _Is he talking to someone?_ An accomplice. This was getting more and more interesting.

Her grin spread and she tipped her hat so the shadows hid her face. She almost laughed aloud, but settled for a low chuckle when the fighting broke out. _I see what you're doing you clever, clever man. It just might work. It will definitely work. _

Just in time the man of many faces leapt to the rescue. Yelling something about needing to protect Irene. _Oh, he is GOOD. He is very very good. Nicely done. He could have been born to the work. _Acting like a concerned citizen got her closer. She examined his makeup. Artful, a little over the top perhaps, but artful. She restrained herself, to keep from applauding such an admirable performance.

Truly art. Any more watching she might have done of the man of many faces was prevented by the man's accomplice. He stood, looking in the window. He wasn't nearly as skilled as his companion. He stood there, attempting to conceal himself, and failing miserably. There was no way this man was a trained professional. How could someone so talented have such a companion? She had many friends, but as a thief, she did not have many outside of less than gentlemanly circles. How had this man brought an honest citizen into this business?

"FIRE! FIRE!" came a shrill voice from inside. The call was soon taken up among the crowd. She joined in, making it more of a cheer. Finally an outlet for her enthusiasm over this extraordinary turn of events. Minutes that felt like seconds passed and a servant of Briony Lodge yelled that it was a false alarm. The accomplice stood for a moment, and then tried to disappear into the crowd. She actually succeeded in disappearing into the crowd. She trailed him easily to the cab that contained the hidden man. She once again found herself clinging like a monkey to the back of a cab, this time the darkness concealed her from any prying eyes.

"HAHAHA! You did it very nicely doctor." _Doctor? Doctor who? _

"You have the photograph?" _Ah. I was right; he's here for the King's pretty picture._

"No but I know where it is." _Well, obviously, or you wouldn't e so happy. Do they normally talk this loudly?_

"How did you find out?" _He really IS new to the game, isn't he?_

"She showed me as I told you she would." _Oh, the victorious feeling of a plan gone smoothly. How I miss that feeling._

"The trouble is that it still remains in her possession. You may have lost your one chance Holmes." _HOLMES! Holmes. I've heard the name. I've heard it slipping from the lips of the worst kinds of criminals, spoken like a curse and spat like poison. My friends have a betting pool going on how long it will be before he is found floating in the Thames. I will have to put in, my answer is whenever he chooses to go for a swim. Some summer day perhaps?"_

"No, I shall call early tomorrow morning." _You may well miss your chance._

"You'll call _there?_" _How else is he supposed to get it?_

"And as my own self. And with the King." _Oh, that should be fun._

"The _King?_" _Is there an echo?_

"And with you, Watson. You must be a witness to the end of our quest." _Watson, Doctor Watson, and Holmes the meddler. Oh, I am the luckiest retiree this side of London. _

Because of the bright lights and the many eyes f London, she had had to remove herself from the back to a more precarious position, dangling from the bottom of the coach, in the shadows, hoping they didn't run over anything. The rocking when the cab stopped was enough to dislodge her and she hit the ground, suppressing a grunt. She scrambled out before the cab started again.

She took her hat from her teeth, jamming it back over her hair and walking onto the sidewalk like nothing unusual was going on, whatsoever. It took her only a second to realize where she was, Baker Street. She glanced up at the building they entered. 221 B Baker Street, it was evidently the home of her new obsession.

"Goodnight Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Unable to hold her glee any longer she burst out laughing. If that wasn't the worst fake-male voice she had ever heard, she was waiting for the one who was. He looked startled and she looked up to the sky and thanked whatever god she believed in for the events of that night, then she called a silent goodnight to Irene Adler-Norton, her new heroine.

She did not follow the men to Briony Lodge the next morning. She knew what they would find. Irene Adler-Norton was truly a woman after her own heart. She will have left England and her troubles behind, for a new beginning. She would keep the photograph, as proof that she had lived a life, and moved on to a new one. So she let Irene go, without saying a word to that remarkable woman, although she wished she had had the chance to sit down and have a true conversation with that woman. But alas, she had better things to attend to.

She approached 221 B Baker Street and knocked on the door. Their housekeeper, a woman named Hudson answered it.

"I wish to see Mr. Holmes." She said, in a much more convincing imitation of a male voice.

"Are you a client?" The housekeeper asked politely.

"Of a sort." She answered. Her heart was pounding again. She knew the winds of change well and she loved the feel of them in her face.

"I don't believe he's busy right now, I'll show you right up." She followed the kind woman up the stairs into the sitting room of one of the most brilliant men in London.

"Someone to see you, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Finally, she saw his true face. His eyes were now toned down, with the hunt over. Inside them now was a sense of chagrin, but there was something else. There was no bitterness in those eyes, just the acknowledgement of a game well played. Out of the corner of her eye she spied a picture of the lady herself, Irene.

"Ah, you kept the picture then?" She asked, in her true voice. Mrs. Hudson had left and she removed her hat to reveal the tight bun underneath. She also removed her coat and the padding within that gave her the shape of a man. She remained in a suit, and loosened her cravat slightly as she turned to face the room.

Dr. Watson was staring, open-mouthed. Mr. Holmes was watching her keenly.

"Gentlemen, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, it is the greatest pleasure to meet you. I pray I don't embarrass you by making your acquaintance during one of your failures, though perhaps it was not all a loss. Perhaps you have learned humility? I never had much time for humility; if you're good at something that is that, don't be afraid to hide it. Tell me, pray, how did the King take the news?"

Mr. Holmes, to his credit did not even blink. "How do you imagine he took it? You seem to know much of the matter."

"Oh, his marriage is no longer in danger. I believe he will rest easy tonight."

"How _do _you know so much of the matter?" Dr. Watson asked, unable to maintain his silence any longer.

"Oh, because I was asked to take the photograph first. I turned him down. I was however, intrigued as to what lengths he would go to, and whom he would call. After entertaining myself watching several pitiful attempts, you came along. I'm afraid I was rude enough to follow you quite closely. I do apologize for eavesdropping but I have a very curious nature."

"_Who _are you?" Dr. Watson burst out again. Holmes remained silent, waiting for her answer.

"I am Raina, and I am a thief."

NAVAL TREATY

Feeling distinctly ill at ease she followed Watson's back into the hallway of 221 B Baker Street. The air smelt of chemicals and she was getting more and more anxious with every step. If she hadn't been so anxious she probably would have been pondering the number of times she actually used a person's front door. All of her friends were used to her using a convenient window.

She could hear clinking glass over the sound of Watson's shouting. The door opened and she caught sight of a fleeing arm as Holmes darted back to whatever experiment he had going on. She had been in Baker Street only once before, and it had been considerably neater. Se liked it better this way. She always thought clean households were the signs of stuffy company and boring discussions.

"You have come at a crisis, Watson." Stated Holmes' fleeing back. Watson followed and gestured for her to take off her hat. She did so, revealing her coiled braid, her upper lip twitched under the false mustache, it tickled. She watched with a smile as Watson leaned over Holmes' shoulder like an eager school boy.

"Help yourself to tobacco for the Persian slipper, I will be with you in an instant." As he said this, Holmes' clever gray eyes caught sight of her and eyed her curiously, she wiggled her fingers in a small wave and glanced around the room. She sat down in the same chair she had used in her introduction, perching precariously around a newspaper and pipe, trying not to disturb anything, and let her mind wander.

"_A thief?" Watson looked astounded._

"_Of course." She said, unashamed. "One of the greatest in the world, and ,I hasten to add, retired." Holmes turned his head slightly and looked at her out of the corner of his eye._

"_Ah, of course you would be retired, a bad arm would put a thief thoroughly out of business." Holmes remarked nonchalantly. Watson started and proceeded to examine both her arms. She jerkily wiggled the fingers of her left hand_

"_I was left handed, then. I shall not bore you with the story I shall only say that it has made things more difficult and taught me to keep away from certain less desirable elements of my underworld." She smiled wryly. _

"_You are, as I see, now right handed." Holmes stated. She confirmed it, knowing he enjoyed making Watson wonder about his methods._

"_If you are retired, why did the King contact you?" Watson asked._

"_Because he was desperate. Because, in my own circles, I am famous for getting the job done every time without fuss."_

"_But why have you come here?" Watson asked. It may have been her imagination but it seemed that Holmes sat up straighter in attention at that._

"_I wish to offer my services, no Dr. Watson, not as a thief. I'm retired. I wish to offer my services as a consultant and a guide to my elements of London, not for money, for entertainment. I miss the hunt. I'm so dreadfully bored." Holmes eyed her carefully._

"_Why would we need the aid of a crippled, retired criminal?"_

"_Holmes!" Watson gasped. Raina laughed._


End file.
